The Mad Troubadour
by SyDra
Summary: Well--let's imagine that Joren is a really hot 35-year-old cold attitude greater-than-thou stunt actor in our time doing action-packed masculine type films...turns every swooning woman down. Except for the vivacious, devious, attractive reporter who stalk
1. Default Chapter

Tamora Pierce  
SyDra  
  
Title: The Mad Troubadour  
  
Summary: Well-let's imagine that Joren is a 35-year-old really hot stunt actor in our time doing action-packed masculine type films...total attraction magnet, but turns every woman down with his totally cold greater-than-thou attitude. Except for the vivacious, attractive, and slightly mad reporter who stalks him day and night, not only for media purposes. She is: Me.  
  
Rating: PG-13 (It gets juicy, I promise)  
  
Disclaimers: I do not own any of the recognizable characters, and I am the reporter (Azalea Lorenzo). Please, please, PLEASE do not flame this story because I dared put myself in it! I've had that from certain anonymous people before, and it's not nice! The idea for this story just...came to me, if you know what I mean, quite randomly as I was biking through the quaint town of Andover, so I'm typing it up now to see how it comes out in writing. LOL. Oh-p.s.-Joren kinda looks like Josh Hartnett in The Virgin Suicides, only with blonde hair and really cold attitude.  
  
"Mr. Stone? Mr. Stone? This is Evan Dale from News 4...I'd like to ask a few questions..."  
  
"Joren! I'm Ronda McCartney from Fox 25-I'd like a word, if you don't mind..."  
  
"Joren Stone! I'd really like to know..."  
  
From the corner of the low building that contained the theatre at which Joren Stone's movie had premiered, a lone reporter stood, half hidden in the dark shadows of the evening. Behind her were a cameraman, and a girl holding an overhead microphone. The reporter herself held only a small hand held microphone and a small bundle of cards with questions and dialogues mapped out for her. She waited patiently, knowing all too well that she stood just by the $800,000 midnight Mercedes owned by the man of the night himself. Off by the theatre entrance, Joren coldly shoved his way past the masses of cameras and camcorders, dismissing various reporters and newscasters with the flick of a large hand.  
  
She took a deep breath, waiting for him to swagger her way, his long, black leather jacket carelessly slung by a finger over his broad shoulder, his pale blond hair tucked carefully behind his ears. She was prepared for his icy, piercing blue eyes, the mouth firmly set in the characteristic grim line. She had seen every one of his high-action films, watched every single episode of every TV show he'd ever been on, and recorded on tape every commercial he'd ever cut. Little did Joren Stone know that his number one fan was leaning cattily on his shiny new ride this very moment. Which made her think, why not a limousine? It's his premiere, after all.  
  
And here he came. The reporter smoothed her long golden hair, and brushed on a bit more of her purple lipstick. He was almost to the corner-  
  
"Joren Stone, how are you? I'm Azalea Lorenzo, reporter from WSKG, Boston. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask a few questions..." She trailed off nervously, noting a rather annoyed look on his face. "I-I..."  
  
"I have places to be, things to do. You should feel honored. At least I said something. Now, if you'll MOVE, I need to get into my car!" He nodded icily at her. Azalea stepped aside, quite shaken. Though his words were polite enough for a pompous movie star, his tone made it seem as though he were saying, 'Time for your last words.'  
  
She was stricken silent, looking from him to her cards and back to him. He had struck her silent, not only with his cold air, but also with his very presence. She felt he would have stricken her wordless even if he were the most jovial of men. He fumbled a bit with his keys, finally selecting one, and without a further glance in her direction, slid into his car, rolling up the tinted windows. As he sped off into the streets of New York, she gazed at his taillights despairingly, her microphone slowly dropping in her hand. When it disappeared, she abruptly whipped around to her cameraman and mic holder.   
  
"Guys? Looks like there's nothing to do but go back to the hotel. To the van?" The three walked quickly back to their white WSKG van, the driver waiting in his seat. Azalea gave the smallest of sighs as they drove back to the Marriott. Her only chance to meet the man of her dreams had been disintegrated. But just as they pulled into the half circle at the door of the hotel, and idea came to her, and she grinned behind her hand. No one would know about it, and she would hardly drop a hint. She walked quickly toward the nearest open elevator and pressed the button to the first floor.  
  
Tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the elevator to reach its destination, she folded her arms and suppressed her wide grin. The bell rung as the door slid open, and she whipped out her key card, striding purposefully to room 15.   
  
"Laptop...modem...phone jack...mouse...all set," she whispered as she entered the lavishly decorated five star room. All she needed now was the perfect hack site...  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
  
  
  
  



	2. Small Obstructions

The Mad Troubadour  
SyDra  
  
A/N-This chapter is supposed to be funny! Plot-I stalk Joren, after finding his home address in N.Y. Just R&R, okay, please? And make sure they're *nice*....;)  
  
Chapter 2: Small Obstuctions  
  
Azalea held back the sudden urge to giggle wildly and clap her hands. It had been so simple, finding Joren Stone's address on the internet. Silently she praised whoever had established it. With that, she wrote it down and traced out a route on a N.Y.C. map, and shut down her laptop, closing it silently and swinging her legs off her bed. She decided to bring with her the cameraman and the microphone girl that had been with her earlier.  
  
"Randy?" she said, whipping out her cell-phone and dialing his number.  
  
"Yeah. Who..."  
  
"Azalea Lorenzo. Listen-get Jinna. You guys are coming with me, in my car. We're going to Stone's penthouse in Times Square."  
  
"Two questions," he replied, sighing loudly through the phone. "Why his house, and why us?"  
  
"Because you two are not only my camera and microphone people, but my friends. And when we get to Stone's penthouse, we're not JUST going to do a news shoot. You'll see-just bring all your equipment, and tell Jinna to get ready."  
  
"Okay," Randy resigned. He knew his work partner well, and she was not the type to argue with.  
  
"Wait-don't hang up-I have another idea. Bring your bugging equipment. We'll need it."  
  
"Yeah. Bye."  
  
"The parking lot in ten minutes."  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Azalea flipped her phone shut and shoved into the front pocket of her gold purse. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, sprucing up her blonde hair a little, and brushed on more of her trademark purple lipstick. She wanted to look perfect for the mission she was setting to do. *Your Royal Hotness Stone...here...I...come.* She thought, perfecting her mascara. "Damn, I look GOOD!"   
  
She retrieved her microphone, the room key, and her pink-rimmed shades from the double bed and strode out the door. No one was in the hallway, but she checked to make sure anyway. She didn't want her employer to know she was out on an unscheduled newscast, and slipped into the nearest empty elevator, pushing her shades onto the delicate bridge of her nose.  
  
Jinna and Randy leaned against her black Lexus, waiting patiently in their gothic garb. They waited for her to unlock the car and then quickly sat in the back. Azalea jammed her key in the ignition, and sped off to Times Square. "Now, you guys be on the lookout for the DoubleTree Apartment Complex-Stone's got a second story unit there, and he's got a rave going on. What we're going to do is go up the fire escape. He's got curtained balconies, but we can get around that. Right Jinna? Your specialty, glass-cutting." Azalea ran the red light, doing a sharp turn right by the MTV building.  
  
"Right," Jinna answered, her brows slightly furrowed. "But won't that make a helluvalot of noise?"  
  
"Oh, please-do you KNOW why they call it a rave?" Azalea questioned her friend tersely. She clenched her jaws, still pressing the gas pedal to the floor and flying another red light. *Lucky for me, there aren't any traffic enforcement dudes running amuck...*  
  
"Well, no," Jinna answered, a little late.  
  
"Okay. DO you know what loud techno music is? Stuff that blows your ears out and has heavy bass, and still sounds good? The party people won't be able to hear a pitiful little glasscutter over their music. So-after you cut the glass, you're going to reach inside, and very discreetly and slowly pull a curtain open to see if the coast is clear. If it is, then Randy picks the lock and we all get inside and inconspicuously plant our equipment."  
  
"How will we be able to find Stone, though?" Randy asked, puzzled. "We don't know what he'll be doing. He could be mixing drinks, or doing the music, or dancing. Heck, he could even be in his room doing the wicked thing with some random chic he paid."  
  
"Don't worry about it. Your last suggestion? THAT would make a great cover story if we submit pictures, articles, and shit to the National Enquirer. They love to get dirt on the hottest celebs. And who cares if we work for a news casting station in reality? That magazine wouldn't care." Azalea relished the thought, licking her lips slightly. "Are you guys seeing the street yet?"  
  
"Coming up on your left, Az," Jinna answered, running a hand through her coal black hair excitedly. She grabbed the handle to her equipment duffle. Azalea took the turn, and the black car tipped a little with the cyntrifical (sp?) force.  
  
"Okay..." she parked the car by the nearest meter to the complex entrance. The three stalkers stepped out of the car, not bothering to put money in the meter. "Now guys, follow me. I hacked into the sprinkler system of the building, and I got a clear map of where Joren Stone's apartment is. If we go just around the corner, to where that bay balcony is, there's a small escape ladder. Randy, I'll need your shoulders to get me up to the bottom rung, that should be no problem."  
  
"Umm..." Randy countered, but Azalea shot him a steely glare.  
  
"Then, you goons are going to follow with the equipment. Randy, you'll then give Jinna a boost, and I'm sure you're capable of jumping up yourself. Jinna can give you a hand."  
  
Randy sighed, shaking his brown-haired head, stroking his goatee a little. Azalea dropped her equipment, and motioned Randy forward under the ladder. He squatted, allowing his work partner to step on his shoulders. He winced a little under the pressure of her platform heels. "That's gonna leave a mark," Randy mumbled dismally. He rose slowly, Azalea bracing herself on the brick wall. "You got the rung?"  
  
"Yeah. Get my feet, push me up a little..."  
  
"I can see...umm...I can see your, your...thingie."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Your uh...string?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know..."  
  
"Well, I don't care. Are you lifting?"  
  
"No, uh...I can see your..."  
  
"What is it?" Azalea asked exasperatedly.  
  
"Your thong! G-string! Thing!"  
  
Jinna giggled. "Not so loud!"  
  
Azalea snorted, as she pulled herself up. "Please. If it's important, tell me. If it's that or anything else, look away, and IGNORE it! Sick freak..."  
  
"Not my problem you wore a mini," Randy muttered, still rubbing where her heels had dug into his shoulders. Azalea climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, pulling herself to a kneeling position on the platform.  
  
"Well, I wore pants," Jinna announced, climbing onto the back of the once more squatting Randy.  
  
"Good," he squeaked, as she stepped onto the back of his neck. "Now hurry up and get off me!"  
  
"Patience...I'm almost there. Okay. Now hand me some shit, will ya?"  
  
"And careful," admonished Azalea. "Or else the station will have our asses on a platter. Hell, we'll even have to tell them all about it. We'll probably be fired..."  
  
"Aw, shut up, you're ruining the effect." Jinna laughed as she took the first bag by the handle, handing it to Azalea. The reporter took it carefully, setting it just by the first balcony door.  
  
"Right," she answered sarcastically. "But we're in good shape. Somewhat...Stone left his curtains open. All we have to do is pick the lock, now that we can see what's going on. And remember-let NO ONE see the equipment. They'll be suspicious. But hopefully, since this rave's been going since the end of the premiere, lots of people will be drunk beyond their minds." She took the second bag coming up. The last was the heaviest, and Azalea had to struggle not to let it make noise as it dropped onto the iron balcony. Below, Randy made a lucky jump and snatched the first ladder rung, and proceeded to pull himself up.  
  
Azalea and Jinna moved aside to let him through with the metal strip. He jammed it into the lock, wiggled it about a little, and with a turn, the tumblers fell into place. "The room is dark, you guys. It's so loud in there."  
  
"It's a rave, like I said. What did you expect?"  
  
"Auditory precautions, at the least," Randy moaned. The three of them stood, each donning a duffle bag, and began to wade their way gently through the sea of people. Azalea grabbed a martini from a tray by the balcony doors, and tried to hide her bag discreetly behind her legs. A short, stocky, red-haired woman stood to her right, eyeing her curiously.  
  
*Please, don't let her be suspicious*, Azalea pleaded silently. The woman addressed her.  
  
"Hey, Alanna Olau-Trebond here. What's your name?"  
  
Since the woman didn't appear to suspect anything, Azalea put on her best grin. "I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model," she lied. Obviously she couldn't reveal that she was really a reporter for a news station. And her looks were good enough to lie.  
  
"I'm an actress. Have you seen any of my movies?"  
  
Luckily, she had. They were pretty good, some of them-mostly action movies, plus she'd been featured in a James Bond film. "Sure. I'm a big fan. I always wondered though..." Azalea trailed off a little, seeing Jinna frantically beckoning for the duffel bag out of the corner of her eye. But she ignored her and continued. "...Do you do your own stunts? Because, I mean, they're pretty dangerous, I'd guess, right?"  
  
Alanna looked insulted. "Do you even NEED to question? Of course,..." She turned away, talking to a man who was about her height, who appeared to be asking if she wanted something else to drink. "Oh, no thanks, George. I'm still finishing my Merlot." Azalea took her chance and slipped away, handing Jinna the bag.  
  
"What were you THINKING?" Jinna hissed.   
  
"This woman Alanna just randomly started talking to me. She asked if I'd seen any of her movies, so I couldn't very well walk off, or she'd be suspicious."  
  
Jinna rolled her eyes. "Me and Randy are almost done. All we need is the bugging equipment in Stone's bedroom, I think. Or did you want it somewhere else?"  
  
Azalea smiled deviously. "No, the bedroom will be just fine. Be careful though, huh? Make sure Joren isn't in there, of course, when you set everything up." She unconsciously felt for the microphone in her pocket book, deciding she wouldn't do any shooting with the camera-tonight's events would be strictly personal. Jinna went her way, and Azalea went hers-bumping right into a tall, greasy haired man.  
  
"Why hello, there, hot stuff," he said, his voice sliding over her like oil. He grinned nastily. "And what would your name be?"  
  
Azalea shuddered, cringing away from him. "Excuse me, but I have to..."  
  
"Oh, no, I don't think you're going anywhere, darling." He grabbed her arm, and she wrenched it away from him. "What's your name?"  
  
"Azalea Lorenzo," she muttered through clenched teeth, hoping the sleazy man heard over the volume of the music, and tried to make her way through the crowd, but he followed her.  
  
"Well, my name is Alex Tirragen-comedian and actor every Saturday night on Comedy Central. The act's 'Erotic Hypnotic'." He grinned unpleasantly again, and even going away from him Azalea could smell the beer on his breath. "You ever seen it, sweety?"  
  
"Get the FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" she shouted, and Alex grimaced nastily, turning the other direction.  
  
"Damn it, never get the chicks..." she could hear him mutter. She sighed tiredly and continued on her search for Joren Stone. But in her way a short, muscular, stocky man with a balding crown and multiple scars.  
  
"Excuse me," she said, trying to move past him.  
  
"I don't think so. Who are you? Were you even invited? This is a private party, you know." He frowned. Azalea decided to use the same lie she told that Alanna woman.  
  
"I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model. And yes, I was invited."  
  
Seemingly still suspicious, The man looked her over. "Um." Was all he said. Azalea put on another flashing smile.  
  
"And who are you?"  
  
She realized her mistake just after she said it. Of course she knew who he was, now-Wyldon Cavall. The big, tough action guy. The one who did all those films with Arnold Schwartzenegger.  
  
"Wyldon Cavall's the name." He stiffly held out his hand, and she shook it politely. *Thank God*, she thought, sighing quietly with relief.  
  
"Oh, nice to meet you. Remind me to get your autograph," Azalea said, making her way around him. She had the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes on her rear end. *How OLD is he?* she wondered, slightly disgusted. *And where is Joren?*  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...  



	3. THe party Gets Wilder

The Mad Troubadour  
SyDra  
  
Chapter 3: The Party Gets Wilder  
  
Azalea sank into the depths of despair as she realized she might never find Joren Stone, man of her dreams, in the noisy crowded din. She pushed by countless numbers of people, stepped on numerous feet, and drank quite a few martinis. Jinna and Randy stood by the balcony doors, yawning and trying not to sleep on their feet. Azalea checked her watch; it was half past midnight, and the party was still raging.  
Jinna came forward through the people, looking annoyed. "Az, It's way past my bed time! Obviously it's too crowded for you to find the guy, and I can tell no one's left because no safety windows have shattered and no doors have opened, except the bathroom one. And really, only one person's been in the bathroom the whole time. I'm beginning to think it's his detoxification headquarters or something."  
Azalea ignored the plea to leave, however subtle it was, and grinned sneakily. "Which one?"  
"Which one what?"  
"Which one was hogging the bathroom?"  
"I heard someone say his name was Vinson Genlith. They say he's a failing actor, has his own drug trafficking problems with the FBI, big boozer. He's been in jail countless times, and I think he was charged a couple years ago for rape of an underage girl."  
Azalea's grin disappeared. "What a sicko," she muttered.  
"That's one reason I would like to LEAVE the premises," Jinna grumbled  
"No kidding. But I have to find Stone. I MUST."  
"Really, Az, what's so important about this guy?"  
"He's a huge actor, and it's his premiere night, and I want to do a shoot with him..."  
"I can tell it's more than that. Remember earlier tonight, or should I say last night, 'cause it's literally morning, when you tried to interview him? And he totally fluffed you off, and you were all sad?"  
"Well, yeah..."  
"I saw something else there. I think you got a thing for this guy."  
Azalea frowned. "Well, THAT would be none of your..."  
"Sure it would. We're friends, we grew up together. We're practically sisters-I lived more at your house than mine. Now tell me. Is it an obsession?"  
"Fine, yeah, whatever. I'll talk to you later. I still have to find the subject of our conversation, if you know what I mean."  
"Sure. Pick me up a Painkiller, would you?"  
"If they're mixing any." Azalea disappeared into the throng.  
  
*~*  
  
Azalea felt a hard pinch at her butt. She whipped around, and found herself glaring at two teens, and then her anger turned to shock. "Excuse me? Aren't you two a little young for a party like this?" She decided not to mention their pinching her ass until a little later.  
They grinned impishly, the girl of the two blowing a piece of frizzy red hair out of her face. The black-haired boy winked roguishly. "Our teachers are here. They brought us along."  
"And what did your parents say about it?"  
"We don't have parents," answered the boy, still grinning.  
"Or at least, we don't any more," The girl corrected.  
"Here's another question-what possessed you to pinch my butt?"  
They giggled, shooting each other mischievous looks.  
"Well?"  
The girl nudged her friend.  
"Because you're hot!"  
Azalea coughed so hard with derisive laughter that she nearly choked on her martini. "I should feel honored, but you're like twelve!"  
The boy frowned. "I'm fourteen!"  
"Well, now I'll ask both of you a question-who the hell are you?"  
The girl straightened herself. "Trisana Chandler. I was Mia Thermopolis in 'The Princess Diaries'. Of course, my hair was dyed, though."  
"Another actress. Have you been in anything else?"  
"Nope. That was my big debut."  
"Okay, boy, so what about you?"  
"Briar Moss. I play Simon Camden on 7th Heaven-you know, the WB TV show."  
"Oh, the show with the horrible, cheesy theme song. Well. I noticed, everyone's in the acting business here that I've met. Is there anyone who isn't?" Azalea was mildly curious, after all. "I mean, besides me?"  
"You mean, you're not an actress? Or on TV? You look familiar," said Trisana, scratching her head puzzledly.  
"Probably not familiar. I'm a fashion model." Azalea was a bit uneasy. She hoped Tris-what's-her-name didn't watch her on the news.  
"I see. As for the answer to your question...yes, there are people with other professions. There's Gary Naxen Jr. He's a Boston Globe columnist, he writes humor. I've read some of his stuff, like the one about the cell phones on the beach...that one was hilarious, especially when he started talking about the surgeon...anyway. There's Josaine Copper. She's a pop singer, a complete bitch, if you ask me. I think she's way too much like Christina Aguilera. Personally, I hate her music, but Joren Stone seems to be okay with her stuff. And then there's Alanna Olau-Trebond's adoptive father; he works for the CIA. He used to teach history at Joren's old elementary school. And that's it."  
"Okay. Well, I have to, uh...talk to some more old friends, so..." Azalea trailed off making her escape, and she heard from Briar as she was heading the other direction, "I'll see you around, I guess," and then a great 'Oomph!' as he got an elbow in the ribs. She chuckled, and then, not noticing where she was going, completely smashed into a handsome, tall young man with a huge, wide grin on his face. "Ouch, I'm sorry," Azalea excused herself embarrassedly, rubbing her elbow where it had connected with the man's chest.  
"Oh, quite alright, really," he answered jovially, holding out his hand to be shook. "My name's Domitan Masbolle. Pleased to meet you. And you are?"  
"Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model," she said with a dashing smile, fluffing her blonde hair a bit. But Domitan frowned.   
"Azalea, Azalea...Lorenzo..." He trailed off, thinking aloud, and then looked abruptly back at her accusingly. "You're not a model! You're-you're a reporter from WSKG! I thought you looked familiar! So-were you even invited, or did you worm your way in here?"  
Azalea shrank under his glare. "I-I..."  
"You'll have some explaining to do before Joren Stone. He's not going to be happy about this..."  
Azalea begged. "Please, no, anything but that," although she did want to see Joren. Just not under the current circumstances... "I'll do anything for you! Anything!" She subtly hiked up her micro-mini skirt. "Anything..." she purred. Domitan grinned, completely won.  
"So, where to?"  
  
*~*  
  
Azalea climbed out of the utility closet two hours later, only to find herself extremely disheveled, and still the room was full to the brim. She found her own way to the bathroom, knocking politely on the closed door. All she could hear was the distinct sound of vomiting. She knocked again, hoping for a verbal 'I'm almost done', but none came. Finally, a man staggered out, dark circles under his eyes and his tie hanging undone around his neck. *So THIS is the dirty bastard Vinson Genlith,* she thought angrily as she locked the door behind her. She set her purse on the counter, rummaging around, and pulling out her purple lipstick, her mascara, and her brush. Thank god Domitan hadn't insisted on frenching her, although much of her lipstick was completely gone. A blob of gel-like stuff hung from the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it off with a tissue.  
In five minutes, she was done, and set back out on her mission for Joren Stone. But, all at once, as she went by the entrance to the unit, a loud, booming knock came from the other side. She unwittingly opened the door, only to find a grisly, fat old man bearing a rifle and a horrible grimace of fury. At the first light from the hallway hitting the room, someone turned off the music. At this point, Azalea moved quickly aside, fearing the rifle would be loaded, and was nearly blown off her feet by the volume of the geezer's voice.  
"DAMN KIDS!" He hollered. Faces of shocked partygoers stared back, jaws agape. He hoisted up his rifle, firing two warning shots into the ceiling. A woman screamed. Everyone else was too shocked to move. "MAKING THEM DAMNED BIG NIOSES IN THEM UNGODLY HOURS OF THE MORNIN'! I'M TRYIN TO HAVE A LITTLE QUALITY TIME WITH MY BITCH, AND YOU'RE MAKING THEM DAMNED BIG NOISES! DAMN KIDS! WHY DONCHA ALL JUST SHUT UP!"  
Azalea's big moment came. Hidden in the shadow of the door, she saw Joren Stone himself pushing his way through the crowd. He whipped out a .22. "Shut your own mouth, mother fucker!" He had his gun aimed straight at the geezer's chest. The geezer looked fearfully from his rifle to the .22 and ran. Azalea was so faint from finally seeing the man of her dreams that she swooned-right into Joren's arms.  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...TRUST ME ON THIS  



End file.
